


The Heart Wants What It Wants

by liberteas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Android AU, Angst, M/M, android!alfred x human!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-05-27 14:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6287809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liberteas/pseuds/liberteas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Complete. Alfred is a persocom, a robot, a being of steel and wire, property of one Arthur Kirkland. He knows he's not supposed to fall in love with his owner, who he is to serve and no more than that. But if this cold metal body housed a pounding heart, Alfred knew it would beat only for his owner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bed's Getting Cold

The first time Alfred laid his eyes on the face of his owner, he was automatically filled with the desire to protect and serve his owner as he was programmed to do so. But he was surprised by the attraction he felt that was definitely not written into his operating system.

His owner had looked to be in his thirties, younger than most who were able to afford such expensive persocoms. He was fine-boned and he had delicate, balanced facial features with thick, defined brows. Green eyes peeked out from a curtain of long lashes. He was dressed impeccably in a well-tailored pinstriped suit with an olive shirt and the matching slacks, and a maroon handkerchief stuck out of his breast pocket. Alfred noted that instead of the usual wrist gauntlet most people wore, the man wore an antique watch with actual hands that ticked as they moved.

It was Alfred's job to notice little things like that. He had to be aware of his owner’s every need, and his careful attention to detail was absolutely essential. His owner-to-be was standing next to the sales manager, who held the sales contract and was practically vibrating in his obvious impatience to have the contract signed and receive his commission. Alfred saw an orange notification light blinking at the corner of his vision, indicating that his internal servers had downloaded new files, and he opened them on his visual interface to find a brief profile of his new owner. He ran a cursory glance down the details of the first page. It was nothing special, except the fact that his credit records were suspiciously blank. Alfred noted the deleted entries with detached interest. As a persocom, he was not programmed to be overly concerned with what his owner did. His only job was to deal with the needs of his owner, and the personal profile was just so he could learn more about his owner to serve him better.

Even though the document was open in his secondary visual interface, he switched back to his primary visual receptors once his central processors realised his owner, Arthur Kirkland was looking in his direction. Apparently, Arthur Kirkland was done checking him out from afar and was asking to inspect Alfred up close and have him demonstrate his abilities, so Alfred was ejected out of his glass observation capsule and brought in front of Arthur. It had been quite a while since Alfred had been out of his suspension tube, so he almost stumbled before he caught himself.

"We had him made exactly according to your specifications," announced the sales manager. "In addition to all the usual skillsets of regular model persocoms, this persocom had the cooking capabilities of a Cordon Bleu chef, a charismatic personality, an excellent singing voice, and is expert in martial arts, self-defence, combat, and first-aid skillsets as well as possessing the knowledge of how to drive any form of aircraft, motor vehicle and flotation devices. He has a brief knowledge of nineteenth to twentieth century literature. He is also programmed to answer to his name, Alfred, obey only your commands and question nothing." He paused for breath before continuing to rattle off Alfred’s every virtue. Arthur appeared to be only half-listening, engrossed in studying each plane of Alfred's face and body. Alfred looked down at himself to realise he was clad only in a pair of skintight briefs. Had he been human, he might have been bothered by the attention, but as a robot, he felt no shame.

“Please shut up,” Arthur snapped at the sales manager, apparently satisfied with Alfred’s appearance. He grabbed the contract tablet. “I know what I requested. And if he fails to deliver, I will be back.” He signed with a flourish with the proffered stylus on the tablet and turned dismissively to Alfred.

“Get yourself dressed. In decent clothing.”

* * *

 

Evening found Alfred in his new room. It was small and sparsely decorated, empty but for the charging station standing next to the wall. It is uninteresting, and he spares a few minutes studying the view of the gardens from the balcony before he goes back indoors and slides the glass door shut firmly. He settled himself into the comfy chair of the charging station and plugged himself in. It was comfortable. He linked his mainframe to the local servers, and downloaded the list of tasks and materials that Arthur has prepared for him. He now has a map of Arthur’s house, the timetables for mail and supply deliveries which he was supposed to coordinate and oversee, and a simple task list to check off. He’s also supposed to keep an eye out on world news for Arthur and notify him if anything of interest happens. He’s already been briefed by Arthur about his duties. He will be required to be Arthur’s personal assistant doubling as housekeeper, servant and guard dog for the flat when Arthur was away.

This meant that every day Alfred was expected to guard the house, monitor the many news feeds for Arthur’s many businesses and manage the weekly delivery of food and supplies. The other duties he was expected to perform involved household chores like cooking and cleaning and ironing.

It was obvious that Arthur had a comfortable home, but he was rarely present to enjoy it. Arthur spent only a few nights at his own home per month and he never arrived before half-past nine in the evening. Whenever he returned, he carried with him an air of world-weariness that Alfred would be compelled to massage and wring out of the taut muscles of his back. Arthur rarely ate proper meals, but rather asked for a glass of scotch, which he would nurse in front of the balcony. Occasionally, when his brows were particularly drawn together, he would go out on the balcony to stare at the sky or smoke like a chimney.

Tonight was one such night. Alerted by the face recognition program installed at the front gate, Alfred had the door open before Arthur had reached the threshold. Even from just his facial expression Alfred could already tell what he needed to do. He took Arthur’s coat from him, while Arthur settled onto the couch. Leaning down, Alfred produced a lighter and lit Arthur’s cigarette for him.

"Has your work been particularly stressful recently, sir?" inquired Alfred politely. "My programs have noticed that you have not been sleeping or eating well for weeks, and recommended an appointment at your usual spa -"

"Your programs know nothing," muttered Arthur bitterly, as he tapped his cigarette on the edge of the crystal ashtray that Alfred held out for him.

"Come here," he ordered. Obediently Alfred laid his head in Arthur's lap and allowed his entire body to relax. He tried not to enjoy the sensation of Arthur's fingers threading through his hair and the warmth of his breath on the back of Alfred's neck.

If intimacy was what his master required of him, it was his duty to give only what was desired and nothing more, nothing less. Even though he was a poor mimicry of a living, breathing human with a synthetic body and an artificial mind, he could not allow those all too human impulses and feelings to come to fruition. Only when Arthur Kirkland was so starved for human contact that he needed a semblance of it from an android, could Alfred lay his own skin and limbs against him.

He could only dream of touching Arthur Kirkland freely, without the restraints of orders and commands.

* * *

 

Arthur requests Alfred to join him in bed eventually (after all, sexual prowess was one of Alfred's promised functions), and he exhausts his passions with him, rutting against Alfred's deceptively human body like an animal in heat, tipping Alfred’s head back so that he could kiss him and drink him in as if he had thirsted for thirty days in a desert. Alfred does not even have to pretend he enjoys the sensations and moans freely, which seems to delight Arthur further. As they lay together afterwards in the still and quiet night, Arthur tells Alfred of another Alfred, who had been human, in whose image he had made this new Alfred. That Alfred had been strong, cheerful, kind, ambitious, idealistic, but also stubborn, and human. And though his large hands and his strong frame hid the frailty of his human life, that very life was stolen from him by a terrible disease. The disease wore his mind and will away, murdered his vigorous spirit, befuddled his memories, took away his ability to think, to move and finally his ability to breathe.

Arthur pauses at this point, and disentangles himself from Alfred’s limbs, turning away to stare out the window, hand reaching for a cigarette from the holder on the side table, which Alfred automatically lights for him.

“Sometimes, it’s painful just to look at your face,” sighs Arthur wearily. Though Alfred knows he’s not supposed to feel this way, it’s as if his whole world begins to crumble at those words. The person that Arthur wanted has never been him. It has always been this Alfred, whose name spills from Arthur’s lips as he comes. It isn’t his identity - it’s just what Arthur calls his Alfred-shaped robot so that he can masturbate into its facsimile body to satisfy his lust for his dead lover. If Alfred possessed tear ducts, he might have cried.

But Alfred’s duty is just to service his owner, and not to develop personal feelings. So he buries the foreign emotions away and tries to convince himself he is a cold, unfeeling robot.

_Robots aren't supposed to feel_ , he tells himself, and tries to believe in what he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Stars, hide your fires. Let not light see my deep and dark desires. ___  
>  _—Macbeth, William Shakespeare ___
> 
>  
> 
> _That's going to be Alfred's mantra for much of this fic, I'm afraid..._
> 
>  
> 
> _But do leave a comment if you liked this, thanks :)_


	2. Can't Compare to Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a very specific reason that I made Arthur the human and Alfred the robot in this fic. Arthur's practically the very picture of decadence - he represents the old, the pursuit of old traditions and things, the unwillingness to let the past go. He's a relic of history that's outdated, obsolete and will be eliminated in time. While Alfred on the other hand represents the new, the fresh revolution of the wheel of time, the bringer of a fresh new age, perhaps a new chapter in Arthur's life?
> 
> Sorry this chapter is short, I have a wedding to crash (yes I'm not even kidding).

Alfred doesn’t know why, but he has this misguided, irrational thought that maybe, if he becomes a perfect carbon copy of this Alfred person that Arthur loves so much, certainly, some of that affection will transfer to him. 

All persocoms had a stage of development similar to a human’s childhood, where they copied and learnt the mannerisms and values of other humans. However, that usually only took place in a lab, where controlled conditions dictated the sort of personality a persocom would grow into. Once past that stage of development, the code which allowed the persocoms to learn would be removed. At least, that was what the files from his factory said.

Alfred knows he is different from other persocoms. He had retained the ability to learn and modify his behaviour from external influences, which was unheard of in persocoms. Perhaps it was this anomaly in his coding which fueled his unusual attraction to his owner.

He studies all the resources on the internet he can get his hands on, including films, music, books, scientific journals in order to better simulate a young American man. He had a brilliant capacity to learn, what with his perfect recall and lightning-fast processing speed. He accesses Arthur’s old conversation logs and reads, hungrily, the letters and texts and calls between the old Alfred and his owner. He also finds, in Arthur’s servers, photographs and videos of the old Alfred. Only then does he truly realise how unnerving it is, to know that he is the replica of this once alive man, who has the same face, the same eyes, the same build as he does.

Within weeks he has already hacked into his own operating system and altered the lines of code so that gradual changes came creeping into his behaviour. He removes the standard vocal pronunciation and word choice programs previously installed and replaces it with a modified version of his own creation, created after listening to all remaining recordings of the former Alfred’s conversations with Arthur.

Instead of the standard neutral tone that came with his operating system, he has adopted a distinctly American accent in his speech, and his way of speech was decidedly less formal than his original stiff, polite register. He’s begun to take on little human mannerisms in the wave of his hands as he talked, programming himself to exhibit exaggerated gestures distinct from the cold, mechanical motions he used to perform.

Arthur notices, of course. Arthur is perceptive in his own way, even without programs telling him what to conclude from what he sees.

“You aren’t him,” says Arthur, flipping the page of his well-worn book. “You’ll never be him. And you shouldn’t try to become more like him.”

It might have been the rebellious streak Alfred’s just programmed into his operating system, but he finds himself opening his mouth to retort.

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

Shocked, Arthur half-rises out of his chair, looking as if he was about to drop his book.

“What did you just say?” he demands. Alfred’s shaking, adopting a confrontational stance, though he barely notices it himself. He’s a much better programmer than he realises.

“I said, you can’t tell me what to do! What I’m doing doesn’t affect the quality of my service, does it?  So why do you care?”

“Alfred, what’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to be an obedient -”

“I’m not that empty shell of a robot anymore! I have romantic feelings for you, so sue me!”

“What?” spits Arthur. “Impossible! Don’t pretend to have human feelings that you couldn’t possibly have! Don’t you dare counterfeit Alfred’s feelings for me! No matter how well you pretend to be him, I won’t ever think of you as him.”

“Even if I can’t take Alfred’s place, can’t you treat me as a fellow human being with genuine feelings?”

“How can I, when I know you’re only a stone cold machine?”

“You’d be surprised at how much I care about you, Artie.”

“Stop it! Don’t ever call me that again, do you hear me? Stop that mockery of Alfred’s accent, stop wearing your hair like him! Just stop your pretense - go back to being the mindless robot you were!”

“It’s already too late. The changes I’ve made to my system are permanent. The only other option would be to factory reset me, if you send me back to the factory to be reprogrammed, it could take a year to develop another artificial intelligence as complex as me. You’d poison yourself with your own cooking before you could collect the new me. Don’t deny it, I’ve seen you attempt to cook before, and let me tell you, what you were doing counts as arson.”

“You little -”

“Why can’t you just accept that this is the way I am now?”

“Because I didn’t ask for a second Alfred! I bought a persocom to unload my sexual frustrations on and manage my household chores for me, no feelings included! I’ve had enough of love in my life! Love only brings pain and sorrow, but you wouldn’t know, would you?”

Arthur took a deep breath. “How many people have you ever met in your life, Alfred? What have you experienced? What do you know of the human world? You’ve never had a loved one taken from you right before your eyes. You’ve never felt the pain of loss, never experienced the weight of living. So please, please don’t act like you’re ‘human’ because that’s just shallow of you to assume that having romantic feelings defines you as a human being. It’s silly of you to think humans have such a narrow spectrum of emotions. Being human means to hurt with each breath you take, to carry countless regrets upon your shoulders.”

“Well, I’m sorry for not being a good unfeeling robot like you wanted! But this is what I’ve become. This is who I want to be. I don’t want to be some mindless blow-up toy. I want you to treat me like you would treat Alfred! I don’t expect you to ever love me like you loved Alfred. I just want you to see me as a person! How hard is that to understand?”

“I didn’t tell you about Alfred so that you could delude yourself into thinking you’re my replacement for him. When I request your services in the bedroom, it’s solely for sexual pleasure and only that. I made you physically identical to him because it gets me off, nothing more!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter because I still like you. And I never expected you to return my feelings anyway. Just let me be!” Alfred storms back to his room, slamming the door behind him. He half-expects Arthur to follow, to pound on the door and demand him to revert back into a quiet robot servant, but there is only silence.

Alfred thought he had never expected Arthur to reciprocate even a fraction of what he felt, but only now, clutching his shattered hopes and fantasies, did he realise that he had been hoping all along for Arthur to like him.

Perhaps this was the pain of love Arthur had described?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would it be too cruel of me to continue making them two go at it like this? But I don't think Arthur can get over his former relationship with human!Alfred too quickly..... He's a sentimental old fool who claws desperately at the past trying to keep them and he's not going to throw away that precious love for just some random robot that thinks it's got feelings for him, you know...


	3. Aprés moi, le déluge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End. The Final Conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is simply the final ending I planned for this story, crudely tacked onto my first two chapters. So pardon me if it doesn’t connect fluidly with the first two parts. I don’t think I will have the time to write for fandom anymore, but I wanted to give this story closure. This ‘chapter’, so to speak, was the first scene I wrote when I conceived of this story, and the beginning and the build-up was crafted around this particular ending. I think that it can be read on its own, this final chapter to this story which my talents have failed to express adequately. I present to you, untouched since the time I wrote it in 2016, my vision of what this story was supposed to be.

> _When he leaves the world of the living, it is a quiet affair;_   
>  _nothing like the magnificent shebang he’d always envisioned for himself._

He’d always known it would come to this.  
From the moment Alfred saw the famed field agent Arthur Kirkland, he wanted the man. It didn’t matter he was his personal android who doubled as housekeeper, servant and guard dog for the flat when Arthur was away on his missions. He couldn’t help himself from being drawn in by that enigmatic, prickly man who found insult in the most innocuous words and simultaneously proved himself to be ridiculously capable.

The most curious fact about him was that he treated Alfred like a normal human being. To be honest, Alfred had never had the luxury of such treatment, being the recipient of the derogatory slurs and looks of disgust accompanied with an air of general superiority directed at his kind in general. It just so happened that Arthur seemed to be the only decent human being in this world.  
And not long after Alfred found himself deeply in love with this wonderful man who treated him as an equal.

It was a highly unusual and improbable relationship, the agent and his personal android. But it made both of them happy. And that was that.

  
***

  
They were curled up next to the holographic fire, on Arthur’s ridiculously large and comfy bed. Arthur was smoking, sprawled out languidly in his post-coital haze, one hand thrown casually over their haphazard limbs and the other pressed to his lips, cigarette between his fingers and lips. Alfred was lying beside him, humming absentmindedly, tracing patterns over Arthur’s naked torso littered with scars. He stroked Arthur’s age-worn body, moving to wrap himself sinuously against him.

“You know, I won’t age like you do. I’ll always have the body of a nineteen-year-old. I’ll always be too young for you. Does that disgust you?” asked Alfred quietly, caressing the sweat-slicked skin of Arthur’s arm. “We’ll never grow old together, never have children together, we’ll never have the perfect white-picket fence life like the happy endings of the romance novels you love to read so much.” This he mumbled almost inaudibly into the crook of Arthur’s arm.  
Arthur threw his head back, exhaling rings of scented smoke. “And you know that this body is a walking corpse. This old man right here could have a heart attack in his sleep and never wake up again. I’m an old fool on the verge of death and senility. Does that tell you enough about how much I care about our appearances?”

Alfred’s face was uncharacteristically serious when he next spoke. “Will you still want me when you’re older, maybe even old enough to be my father? I’ll always be a child compared to you, and you don’t know how much I want it, but god knows I can never change myself to be good enough for you, and it’s not for a lack of trying. It’s just the way I am. I’m just a robot, simple as that, with an operating system that’s permanently simulating the actions of a nineteen-year-old boy, forever frozen at the capacity of a teenager. I’ll always be childish and difficult and arrogant and cheeky and rebellious and loud and insensitive. Nobody would want a lover who could never grow up.”

  
“Never change, Alfred. I wouldn’t have you another way,” muttered Arthur, not meeting Alfred’s eyes, the slightest hint of an embarrassed blush rising in his cheeks as Arthur’s hand crept across their bodies and found Alfred’s, so that their fingers were entwined tightly together. This was as close to a reassurance and confession of love from the stiff-lipped man, the most open display of emotion he’d ever seen, and for Alfred, it was enough.

  
Lulled by the heat and the coziness of his position, he slips into standby mode, his central processing units shutting down and his sensors going offline, so that he sinks into the depths of nothingness.

  
***

  
It gets more and more difficult to find spare parts for Alfred. Arthur nearly goes mad when Alfred’s olfactory sensor goes haywire and no compatible replacement parts are sold anymore. Though Alfred assures him that a wonky sense of smell does not constitute a life-threatening system failure, Arthur grows increasingly worried, and takes to hoarding spare parts for Alfred that he thinks Alfred doesn’t know about. Alfred’s hardware is almost obsolete, and it is doubtful whether he can even last till the end of the decade, when new models are rolled out of the factories every month, smarter, faster, better designed than he’ll ever be.

  
“Hey, Artie, why don’t you exchange me for the new PAs? Look, they’ve even added tear ducts to this model……” says Alfred with faked nonchalance one day, brandishing the newest issue of the Tech Gazette in Arthur’s face, where an array of the newest line of polished glamorous personal androids with symmetric faces and supermodel-length limbs smile up at him. His fingers tremble almost imperceptibly and he half-expects Arthur to say yes, why not, why settle for this second-rate barely serviceable lump of junk metal when he could have that?  
Arthur doesn’t reply, but his expression is blacker than the underside of a storm cloud and Alfred tosses the magazine into the incinerator chute with a lighter heart.

  
***

  
Ironically, Arthur is the first one to go, not two years after that.

  
His blood spills onto foreign soil far away from home. His death is not the quick and merciful one Alfred has wished for him. It is long, drawn-out, and painful. Alfred listens to his ragged breaths and grunts of pain as he bleeds out too slowly in a alien marsh of tall, sharp-tipped grass.

There is no one left to rescue him, and those who might come across his body will be hours too late. Even if Alfred were to set off from the mansion at once, he would only arrive to find a cooling body. Arthur’s leg is half-gone, blown to smithereens by a landmine, and he’s been shot in a dozen places. He can still speak, in lilting half-sentences punctuated by sudden shuddering gasps.

The words that pour from his lips are gentle, quiet, secret confessions to the empty night air caught by the microphone on Arthur’s collar and repeated continents away in Alfred’s auditory sensors.

  
They’d both known clearly death and separation was inevitable.

  
They just hadn’t expected this day to come so soon.

  
He tells Alfred how he had not expected to fall so hard and so completely for him, how an initial lust had slowly transformed until he had found himself madly and wildly in love and how he’d failed spectacularly again and again at curing himself of that disease, unable to rid himself of the all-consuming love he could not help himself from feeling.

He tells him how he’d hoped the feelings would fade like the scent of the passing perfume of a beautiful woman – alluring, yes, but fleeting. After all, all flesh is grass, everything comes and goes. He assumes this love will be the same, intense like exploding fireworks and fizzling out just as quickly.  
It does not happen. The furtive little plant of love that sprouted root in Arthur’s heart held fast. And when Alfred confesses, it is the happiest day of Arthur’s life. Arthur still loves him, will always love him, will never stop loving him with every fibre of his being.  
Arthur sings his praises for every part of Alfred, from his silky blonde locks like fine-spun threads of the finest gold, to the colour of his bottomless blue eyes, a blue so vibrant it puts the sky to shame, to his surprisingly large hands, swift and deft in their every motion, to his youthful physique, purposefully designed to be aesthetically pleasing and attractive.

He recounts snippets and tales from their relationship, things that even Alfred with his infallible memory has almost forgotten. He’s barely coherent now, struggling between broken sentences and simple phrases. But he goes on, detailing the surprise birthday party Alfred threw him a year ago and how moved he was, talking about the book Alfred lent him when they’d first met, telling Alfred about the contents of a box filled with little trinkets and birthday cards and love notes and photos that document their relationship, describing each item and telling Alfred of the each item’s own personal story. Alfred realises too late just how much of a sentimental old fool Arthur is. A pang of regret strikes him. He should have appreciated the little things Arthur did for him. Now, Arthur would never tuck him into his charging pod and plug him in when he forgot to charge himself and shut down still naked in the bathtub ever again. He would never again leave him post-it notes reminding him to charge once a week for six hours at least. He would never hold his hand all through the installation of his software updates ever again. It had always terrified him that he’d wake up after the reboot without any memory of Arthur or his relationship with him. 

Now, he realises, he is afraid of being left alone in the world once more. It is a suffocating fear that rises up in him, clawing its way up his throat. Only Arthur’s stuttering words keep it at bay.

“Do you...do you…love me?” chokes out Arthur painstakingly, miles away. “It doesn’t… matter… because I love you.”

“I don’t want to die, Alfred. I want to travel the world with you at my side. I want to see a thousand more sunsets and watch the stars with you. I want to adopt a second cat and watch it grow from a small ball of fur to a larger greying ball of fur. I want to fail at baking scones a hundred more times. I want to live, Alfred. I don’t want to die, when there is so much I want to do with you.”  
Alfred can tell he’s crying, and he wishes he could do something other than sit mutely in Arthur’s flat and listen to him die. Alfred’s own eyes are dry; he does not have the capacity to cry.

  
Arthur is silent in the final hour, too far gone to respond to Alfred’s words any longer, and the dull throb in Alfred’s chest grows and grows until it gnaws at his cold, synthetic heart. Every beat of his artificial organ hurts, and finally he understands that this must be what it means to be human, to hurt with every breath he exhales, to carry the pain of living every moment.

  
Alfred hears the moment he dies, one final exhale of exhausted relief.  
“Goodbye, Arthur,” he says, a heaving sob that refuses to be suppressed escaping his lips, knowing that his words only reached an empty corpse and not the person he loved. “I love you.”  
And then he doesn’t want to live a life without Arthur, so he presses and holds the factory reset button in his smallest left toe, so that finally, he is no longer Alfred, but just yet another persocom.

  
***

  
When the authorities come to clear out Arthur’s things from his flat, they are greeted by an outdated but friendly personal android.

  
“Welcome!” enthuses the PA, bouncing as he spoke, blue eyes sparkling with geniality. “I am your new Personal Android manufactured and modified according to your personal preferences. Please program me according to the instructions manual and input a chosen name for me. Taken proper care of, this model will provide you with years of competent service…”

  
“God, these old pieces of junk never do shut up, do they?” growls an irritated, underpaid and overworked government official. “Remove its battery and incinerate the bloody thing.”

  
And at once, his even more underpaid and overworked minions carried out the deed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually inspired to write this by the song “The Heart Wants What it Wants”. It really made me think about the feeling of wanting somebody that you couldn't have and wanting to be with that person despite all the odds. And you know you shouldn't want that person, can't want that person, but you can't help your heart from wanting what it wants. Adieu to anyone who even bothered to read this far and please, have a great day!

**Author's Note:**

> _Do leave a comment if you liked this, thanks :)_


End file.
